Hunted
by EvilFerrisWheel
Summary: 2 years after the Archdemon died, every sign points to Ferelden finally returning to peace, but the Hero refuses to let the past lie where it falls. Beneath this masquerade of tranquility, does Ferelden only have more to fear? Based on Witch Hunt.
1. The End

**Prologue: The End**

Blood dripped from his swords, from his wounds, from the dark creature impaled upon his swords. It pooled about Ferran, dripping and running in dark rivulets in the black stone of the Deep Roads. The Warden heaved mightily, tearing outwards, his blades ripping through the sides of the flesh golem's head.

The grotesque creature screeched one last time before its end. Ferran almost smiled in exasperation. It was the last one, finally, but Jerric was gone, as was Brogan and Snug, disappeared over the edge of a subterranean cliff with most of the flesh golems. Ferran owed his life to them, though looking at the many wounds he had earned it wasn't immediately apparent if the sacrifice was in vain or not.

He sheathed Blightblood, but kept Vigilance at the ready in case of renewed attack. He still couldn't tell if the mission to Amgarrak was a success or not. True, the dark thaig had been destroyed along with the Harvester, the strongest of the flesh golems, but its brood had escaped in large numbers. Dozens, if not hundreds, had followed them. Ferran and his group had almost gotten to Orzammar before the attack, but it was too little too late.

Ferran gasped, falling against the wall of the tunnel, his hands shaking from blood loss. He wasn't far now. If he could just survive for a little while longer, he could alert the city guard and send men after Jerric and Brogen...

But he knew it to be wishful thinking. How odd that he could survive the Alienage, the Blight and the Mother, only to die at the hands of a mindless horror. So odd that he could accomplish so much, yet die anonymous. Would any even mourn his passing? He had become a symbol, not a man, to Ferelden. People do not mourn symbols any more than they mourn a cracked jewel or scuffed religious amulet. Death would just be another way of immortalizing him.

He dragged one foot forward, his left hand loosely holding Vigilance, dragging it upon the ground as he struggled with the simple motion of walking. If not for the wall he'd have fallen over and died where he lay.

Somehow, miraculously, he kept conscious, his thoughts becoming dim and vague, his vision muddy. All sense was reduced to instinct. One thought pervaded everything, above the pain of motion which was swiftly numbing, above the sound of his breath which seemed so loud before in the silence of the tunnels. One thought, more a memory and anything but tangible, of the time before. The time before his fame and victory. A face, the emotion associated with it, but now gone.

Ferran walked for a long time, though it may have been brief and exaggerated by his state of mind. If any weak darkspawn had discovered this frail elven rogue they could have easily dispatched him, but Ferran just forced himself onwards, propelled by a thought that had ceased to exist, becoming more a state of mind than a goal.

He saw again the light escaping Urthemiel as the great dragon writhed and died at his hands. He saw again the Mother thrash about, tentacles digging into skin, but then again with a dagger dug into her mouth. He saw again the witch, the bard, the drunk and the rest of them.

And when he saw the light, he viewed it as death itself come to claim him, and he fell to his knees as it grew closer. Voices tugged at him, but none were understood. Dark shapes crowded him, but the light stayed constant, seeming to expand in his mind.

"No..." Ferran felt himself fall forward, but there was no impact. He felt nothing. He knew nothing.

There was nothing left now.

_"I never could trust her, Ferran." Leliana's melodic voice complimented her smooth features and Ferran found himself distracted yet again by her beauty. But the seriousness of the topic kept him focused. "And she never seemed to trust any of us, either. Even Sten grew closer to us in his own way, but she always kept her distance. I say it's better to let her go."_

_ "I have to find her, Leliana. You don't understand." Ferran slumped into a chair. As per expected of a royal chamber, the room was lavishly decorated, though Ferran could not relax in such comfort. "She... had something I need. Something I want back."_

_ "She stole from you?" Leliana cocked her head, curious. It was easily apparent to both that there was more to the story, though Ferran knew he could not tell her._

_ "Not exactly." Ferran waved his hand. "It's unimportant to anyone but me and her, I assure you, but the fact remains that I have to retrieve it."_

_ "Yet you continue to deny me the nature of this object." Leliana narrowed her eyebrows. "Why don't you trust me after all we've been through?"_

_ "It's not about trust. It's better you don't know." Ferran let his head rest against the back of the chair, staring into Leliana's eyes. He did trust her and she knew it. She stared a long while before letting out a sigh of resignation._

_ "Very well. Leave if you must, but if you die without me there..."_

_ "I'll do my best not to let that happen." Ferran chuckled. "I avoided it for over a year when it seemed everything in creation wanted us dead. My head is significantly less in danger of separation from the rest of me now that I'm a hero."_

_ "You can never be too sure."_

_ "Indeed."_

_ They remained silent for a long while, looking at one another. Even though the country was in celebration, it was not an easy thing to do to settle into a life of peace for the two. Ferran had to admit he preferred adventure, because that promised the certainty of battle rather than the uncertainty of an everyday life._

_ Maybe seeking out Morrigan was a mistake, but Ferran wasn't even sure why he wanted to find her so badly. Perhaps it was because of the Old God child, the one which Morrigan herself had claimed wouldn't even resemble a child any longer. Perhaps it was because he wanted answers, or maybe it was simply that he hated the confines of Denerim now. He had resisted for a year, but now the call to the road was too strong._

_ "You're starting in Orzammar, then?" Leliana asked after a long while._

_ "I received a request from a man named Brogan Dace about a... favor. I am unsure if it will aid my search for Morrigan or not, but it is a good a start as any." Ferran waved his hand. "I'll bet you that I get caught up in some dangerous mission that has nothing to do with my original purpose. Hell, I might even die."_

_ "Don't say that." Leliana's voice shook, though it was barely perceptible. Ferran caught it but said nothing. Her worry was understandable._

_ "Don't worry, Leliana. I am very hard to kill."_

"Maker's breath! He's awake!" Ferran's eyes opened slowly, met with a harsh light of a lantern. He turned his head towards the sound of the voice, but his vision had blurred too much to see it. He felt no draft and the air was stagnant and hot. Was he in Orzammar?

"Who... are you?" Ferran managed to spit out, his throat dry and sore. The man grabbed a glass of water from the table, holding it to Ferran's lips. The Warden drank greedily.

"Gerod Caron, of Orlais." Finally his vision had started to sharpen, revealing a tanned face with smiling wrinkles around his lips and eyes. A kind enough looking human, though Ferran's alienage past refused to let him trust the man just for looking friendly. "I'm a Grey Warden, like you. The First Warden sent me to Orzammar to investigate some odd occurrences surrounding the darkspawn in the area. When my patrol found you in the Deep Roads some weeks past, I-"

"Some weeks?" Ferran interrupted, propping himself up on his elbows. He shook his head, trying to remember what had happened. There was Amgarrak, and the Harvester, then the battle by the underground cliff and then...

"Aye. We found you some mile or so from the city walls in a terrible shape. You came close enough to death's doors to drag the reaper back to our side with you." Gerod stood, handing the drink to Ferran when he finally sat up completely, resting his back against the wall. The room was small, but fancy, likely one in the Diamond quarter. Ferran smiled slightly. King Harrowmont not doubt had made sure he had the best of healers, considering everything.

"Did you... find anyone else in the Deep Roads?" Ferran asked slowly. "There were two dwarves with me, Brogan and Jerrik Dace."

"You found Jerrik after all?" Ferran and Gerod turned to the doorway to find a tanned faced dwarf standing there, adorned in heavy dwarven armor, his face stern and impassive.

"Ah, Lord Dace." Gerod smiled, gesturing to the noble. "The Warden awoke a few minutes ago and he seems in good condition, considering everything."

"Yet he returned without either of my nephews." Anwer approached, staring at Ferran. The Warden returned the stare unflinchingly. "I would like an explanation, Warden."

"We found Amgarrak." The information made Anwer pause, just for a moment, but Ferran knew the information surprised him. "Jerrik too, as well as much that should have been kept hidden."

"Speak freely, Ferran. Gerod has a right to this information as well, despite the mission's secrecy." Anwer stated plainly.

"We found Amgarrak after only a few days journey into the Deep Roads, past Caridin's Cross. Some foul magic prevented us from leaving the way we came as soon as we entered the thaig, so we were forced deeper into it than we had intended." Ferran struggled to remember everything. The images of the death and blood and flesh were so vivid in his mind still, but he kept speaking. "We found Jerrik, but it also found us."

"It?" Anwer and Gerod spoke simultaneously.

"The Harvester. A beast of terrible proportions forged from the flesh of fallen men, infused with demons from the fade and given strength by blood magic. It was... terrible to look upon, but my companions and I managed to defeat it." Ferran paused, catching his breath. "We fled the place as it destroyed itself, the magics that sustained it finally failing, but we unleashed more than we anticipated. Amgarrak held The Harvester at bay, but the Harvest kept the rest of the flesh golems inside as well. We were attacked, ambushed from behind, by dozens of the fell creatures. We were pushed to the cliffs, where the ground collapsed, taking my companions and the golems along with it. I was severely wounded, but I somehow survived the journey back to Orzammar."

Anwer remained silent for a long time, absorbing the information. He nodded to Gerod, who bent down to listen to a command in his ear and the Orlesian Warden smiled knowingly before leaving. Ferran heard him shout for soldiers in the hall.

"This is troubling news, but I had already sent out search parties for my missing nephews when you showed up. We know of the chasm you speak of, so we may find more answers there." Anwer paused, walking to a closet. "Your armor and weapons are in here."

"What about our deal?" Ferran asked bluntly. For a moment Anwer seemed angered, but it quickly dissipated.

"The deal was to bring Jerrik back, dead or alive... but I know you did all you could." Anwer pulled a scroll from a pouch at his waist, passing it to Ferran. "This is all the information we could gather of her, though there were... unexpected complications that arose. It's all in there. It was difficult to obtain and much blood was shed, but I believe it may still be worth it."

"Many thanks, Lord Dace." Ferran bowed his head slightly. Lord Dace headed back towards the door, but paused in the entryway, his body dark and outlined by the torch in the hallway. "Perhaps I should accompany your soldiers in their search for your nephews?"

"No. You've done enough." Lord Anwer paused before speaking again. "You should leave as soon as possible. I am not a superstitious man, but dark things are arising in this land and I fear they hold more weight than even the Blight did. Find your Morrigan. Hopefully you aren't too late."

Long ago, he had heard of her as the cautionary tale of one who stopped man from venturing where they should not. Long ago, he had been saved by, then manipulated by, this force of nature. Warnings showed themselves in his mind as he trudged on through the rain, resolute in his demand for Morrigan.

The scrolls clutched tight, the information burning within his mind, he knew well of the danger he faced. Men's hearts may hold shadows darker than any tainted creature, but a woman's heart holds mysteries even the gods cannot decipher. The words scribbled upon the page resounded through his mind again and again, till he could bare it no longer. Yet still it continued.

Do not search for the witch of the wilds, lest you find her.


	2. The Frozen Wasteland

**Chapter 1: The Frozen South**

Vigilance almost appeared giddy as Ferran drove the sword through Hurlock flesh, driving the blade in deep before ripping it out. It thrashed about defiantly, struggling to live despite the mortal wound. Ferran grimaced as he swung Vigilance again, cleaving head from body.

Ferran looked about the field, now covered in the blood and body parts of tainted creatures, examining it for any signs of life. Julius was growling, tearing flesh from the body of a shriek before chewing on it. Satisfied with the result of the skirmish, Ferran sheathed his blades, prompting a hint of disapproval from Vigilance. The sword always hungered for battle, though Ferran tried to avoid it. A battle with a troupe of darkspawn wandering the Korcari Wilds should not, however, be avoided.

All about him the mist of the cursed marsh swirled, lying thick and heavy upon the blighted lands. Ferran knew well of the curses and legends surrounding the place, but never before had he felt the compulsion to believe it. The Wilds seemed different, angrier than before, as if the woods could reflect the feelings of recent worldly events.

"Julius!" Ferran shouted, his Mabari reacting instantly to the call. It bounded over to him powerfully, muscles rippling under skin and fur. It was stronger than the average man, smarter too, and Ferran would never have journeyed this far south without the dog by his side.

Julius whined, scratching at the ground and staring forward into the mist. Ferran could see nothing, but he trusted in his dog's judgment. He strode into the mists cautiously, keeping alert for any signs of attack by darkspawn. The Archdemon may lie dead, but there were still the occasional pockets of the tainted creatures that had not yet fled into the deep roads to continue their search for the Old Gods.

There were no sights to see, hardly even space to avoid the trees or lakes when they suddenly appeared before him. If there was ever a time that he regretted this single minded chase after Morrigan, it would be now.

But even this was not enough to make him question his efforts. Morrigan must be found. Still unsure of his exact motives, though, Ferran pressed onwards. Hopefully he was nearing the hut he had woken up at so long ago.

Time has the funny habit of making memories appear cloudy and muddled, but Ferran remembered the morning after Ostagar more clearly than any other event. The news of King Cailan's army being crushed, of Duncan's death. The man who had extracted him from the poverty and pain of the alienage had died, leaving the burden of the Blight resting upon two inexperienced shoulders.

There had been no other morning so like that since. No other burden of information thrust upon him in so small a time frame. Ferran gritted his teeth, shivering in the cold of the wilds as he found his mind drifting into memories of the past.

His movement becoming autonomous, led by a dog and instinct, he felt the events of before burn into his vision, taking the place of all else.

_"It's too much, Ferran." Alistair's silhouetted figure crouched by the fire, staring into it longingly. "How can two Wardens end a Blight? With Duncan... and Cailan... This is hopeless."_

_ "We've got a witch and a dog with us too, you know." Ferran cracked a smile, hoping to diffuse the tension. He felt the uncertainty as well, though he didn't want Alistair to fall even further into despair. "That raises our chances from one in a trillion to at least two or three in a trillion."_

_ "How comforting." Alistair shot back dryly. He rocked backwards on his feet, sitting down with his legs crossed. His chainmail clinked softly in the night air, and with the singing of nocturnal birds and crickets sounding out from the darkness around the camp, Ferran could almost pretend that things weren't as bad as they seemed. Almost._

_ "Well, we aren't dead yet. We should be happy for that, at least." Ferran laid his head back on the single blanket he had taken with him from Flemeth's hut. A minor comfort. "Though I can't say for sure that I know how long that'll last. Maybe we'll die tomorrow?"_

_ "Please keep reminding me that. I need an extra dose of reality right now." Alistair pulled off his chainmail gloves, warming his hands by the fire. "I still can't believe we lost. We were... so confident. Even though the Tower of Ishal was taken, and even though the darkspawn army was so large... I thought for sure we'd succeed."_

_ "We all did." Ferran sighed, turning on his side. His leather armor groaned in protest of the movement and Ferran couldn't help but notice the discomfort his armor brought him, but it was better armored, uncomfortable and alive than dead in satin sheets._

_ "And Duncan..." Alistair choked on the words for a second. "And all the other Wardens. They're dead."_

_ "Repeating that over and over again will not improve your situation, Alistair." Ferran sat up as Morrigan entered the camp, tendrils of light escaping into the air around her, suggesting she had just now transformed back into human form. "There is only one option ahead of you, and that is not to bow your head and cry. Forget Duncan and Cailan, for they are inconsequential now."_

_ "How dare you!" Alistair stood fast, his bare hands gripped tight, turning the knuckles white with rage. "Duncan was like a father to me! Even in death, he is not inconsequential."_

_ "Keep your dog away from me, Ferran." Morrigan spat. The elven Warden knew she didn't mean Julius. "His illogical actions over the past few days only serve to hinder your cause. When confronted with danger, one does not simply curl up and hope it'll go away. You must fight, not whine."_

_ "You weren't there, Morrigan. You don't know what it was like!" Alistair shouted. Ferran flinched. Even in the dead of night and several days ahead of the darkspawn horde, shouting could only bring trouble._

_ "Neither were either of you. You two didn't even see real battle. All you accomplished was lighting a beacon that was merely ignored." Morrigan paused, placing her hands on her hips. "But enough of this. I tire easily when arguing with fools."_

_ And with that Morrigan turned sharply, heading away to her own corner of the camp, her own fire pulsating softly in the darkness. Alistair stared after her, eyebrows narrowed in suppressed rage. Ferran couldn't blame him. Though the elf didn't share the same feelings of kinship with Duncan, the man had saved him from certain death in the Alienage. That kind of debt should never be ignored._

_ "Did we _need_ to bring her along?" Alistair finally said, slumping back to the ground._

_ "We need all the help we can get, whether we like them or not." Ferran locked his fingers together, glancing over to where Morrigan sat some distance away, rubbing her hands in the cold. "There's gonna be a war, after all."_

_ "Yeah. A war. And we have to start it somehow. I'm surprised I haven't soiled my trousers yet from the thought of that." Alistair dug his head in his heads, running his fingers through his hair in desperation. "Maker help us..."_

_ "I don't think He will."_

Darkness turned to light slowly, ever slowly. Sprouts of light arced into the air from the distant horizon, burning away the mist. But it couldn't hide the dank stench of forgotten knowledge, of ancient battles, of blood shed long ago.

Ferran trudged forward, ignoring the slosh of mud against his feet and the light drizzle that sunk into his Blackblade armor. He had experienced worse, he told himself. It was true, but that didn't improve his mood. He was tired, battle-weary and ready to collapse from all the wandering about the Wilds, but still he pressed onwards, propelled by an invisible, determined force.

Everything in the Wilds looked the same. The trees bent and gnarled in the same leafless fashion, the lakes and peat all seeming identical. How the Chasind could live in such a place baffled him, yet still he continued onward.

For hours he continued, not stopping once to rest. Vigilance cooed softly within Ferran's mind, bored from the lack of battle. He wasn't even sure if he was heading in the right direction, all he could hope for was that he found some landmark, some notice that he was nearing his target. Unfortunately, the distant mist obscured any chance of seeing Ostagar in the distance and his own sense of direction was failing him.

The hours of walking seemed to be accomplishing nothing, even with the aid of Julius' nose. Exhausted, Ferran collapsed against a dead tree trunk sticking into the air, twisted and gnarled ends pointing to the sky. As his back impacted it, dirt detached itself, raining down upon the elf. Ferran swore, standing straight and brushing himself off.

He turned to the tree in anger, only to be halted in surprise. Under the thick coat of dirt was a glint of gray and silver. Ferran rubbed at the hole in the dirt cover eagerly, exposing more of it. After a while of rubbing, Ferran realized it wasn't a tree at all. It was a statue!

"By the creators..." Ferran breathed, a faint memory of a time long past surfacing in his mind. The statue was a landmark where he, Alistair and the ill-fated Daveth and Ser Jory found a bag of ashes that unleashed the demon Gazarath.

He had found his landmark.

Filled with a new sense of purpose, Ferran whistled for Julius before racing off in the mist. Now he knew where he was, and he was close. He reached the ancient Warden Outpost before long, where the cracked chest still lay, though it was now covered in filth and blighted ground.

"Check around for a route to Flemeth's hut, boy." Ferran ordered his dog. The Mabari barked once before racing off, leaving Ferran alone.

Ferran could almost see Morrigan saunter down the stone ramp, chiding the four men as they examined the empty chest. He could almost feel the brush of her skin as she walked past him, leading them to Flemeth's hut. Almost, but intangible. Mere memories brought about by familiarity.

Ferran ran his hand over the wall near where Morrigan had stood, asking for his name. He stared down into the swamp from the outpost, seeing Flemeth's hut in the distance. Ferran resisted the urge to take off at a run, knowing he had to save his strength in case of a surprise.

But the surprise came sooner than expected.

Hearing a hiss sound behind him, Ferran turned sharply, drawing both his blades. Vigilance tittered in delight at the sight of the Hurlock Alpha. It was alone, oddly enough, its gold-hued armor shining in the dim light. Its helmet had been scratched by some mighty creature long ago, leaving large tears in the plating.

"The Warden does not belong here." The Alpha snarled. Ferran didn't so much as flinch at the guttural speaking. A remnant from the slain Architect's brood, no doubt. "The Warden only serves to intrude upon The Guardian's domain."

"The Guardian? That's what you've named yourself?" Ferran smirked, leveling his blades. "Too bad you happened to run into me. I've got a thing for killing nasties like yourself."

"The Guardian will not lie down and die like a human worm would!" The Alpha roared, drawing its sword and shield. It charged, lumbering heavily towards the elven Warden.

Ferran nimbly jumped to the left of The Guardian's first overhead chop, then swore as the blade came around again, faster than expected. Ferran blocked with Vigilance, spinning as he pinned the blade to the ground. Blightblood swung around, only to be caught by The Guardian's shield. The Warden backed away, swords at the ready.

"Why are you this far south?" Ferran shouted, jumping over the broken chest as The Guardian lunged after him again. "The Architect is dead. Talking darkspawn should no longer exist!"

"This has become The Guardian's land. It shall not be defiled by The Warden's hand!" The Guardian followed close behind Ferran as the elf skirted around the chest towards the opening of the Tevinter ruin.

"I'm obviously getting no answers from you." Ferran parried a forward lunge before sidestepping. He stepped forward, inside The Guardian's reach, driving Vigilance upwards and into the Alpha's chest.

The Guardian shuddered as the blade punched through the other side of his armor. Tainted blood dripped from its mouth as Ferran extracted his blade, backing away a few steps. The Guardian fell to its knees, staring up at Ferran with hate in its eyes.

"This land is not for The Warden..." The Guardian sputtered. Ferran swung Vigilance at its neck, the sword screeching in delight for the kill. Blade rended flesh. Head chopped from body. Ferran backed away as the corpse fell backwards, tainted blood spilling over the blighted grounds. One more corpse added to this desiccated wasteland would make no difference. The land here was already dead and inhospitable.

Ferran sheathed his blades, still not understanding the presence of the Alpha. The simple fact was that it had attacked him and that it perished. It was not first time he had encountered cryptic foes, only to slay them before he could find any answers.

And he felt it wouldn't be the last.

Ferran turned at the sight of Julius returning, barking. It bounded around in circles before running towards the side of the ruin, pausing for only a moment by the dead darkspawn. As Ferran neared, he saw Flemeth's hut in the distance.

Tired but determined, the elf trudged out of the ancient ruin, heading in the direction of the far off, though very visible, hut. He pushed the talking Alpha from his mind, focusing instead on the run down dwelling he had hope to see for so long.

The walk seemed longer than it actually was, his trepidation building as he wondered what he'd find within the place.

As he finally neared it, he felt Vigilance twitch slightly, as if it sensed the presence of something. Ferran, unwilling to take any chances, drew his swords carefully as he approached the door. He pushed it lightly, letting it swing inwards. The hinges creaked loudly, but there were no signs of movement inside.

Followed closely by Julius, Ferran pushed the door wide, his blades drawn as he stepped into the small building. As soon as he laid his foot down on the creaking wood, he heard a muffled gasp. Julius barked, growling as he slowly pawed towards the corner in the back of the hut. A person could hide there easily, Ferran noted.

"Who's there!" Ferran demanded, pointing his sword towards the corner. No response. Ferran took another step forward before demanding again. "Show yourself or I will resort to violence! I guarantee it will not end well for you!"

After a long moment a lithe form slipped out from behind the corner, two swords strapped to her back. Surprised, Ferran narrowed his eyes, not expecting to see a Dalish elf, of all things. She was tall for an elf, though still shorter than Ferran, with striking features and light gray eyes. She was poised non-threateningly, her arms slightly elevated from her sides to show she meant no harm.

"Who are you?" Ferran asked. "Why are you here, of all the run-down shacks of the Wilds?"

"Ariane, of the Dalish." The lithe elf crossed her arms, assuming a non-threatening, but distrusting, position. "I am here for the witch of the wilds, though you don't fit the bill quite right."

"Morrigan?" Ferran blinked, surprised.

"She's earned the ire of powerful men, she." Ariane narrowed her eyes. "But what are you doing here, flat-ear. Running an errand for a human master?"

"Are all Dalish so ill-tempered?" Ferran sheathed his swords. Rubbing his temples and suppressing his annoyance, Ferran thought quickly. "What has Morrigan done to anger the Dalish? And if you're searching for her, then we have a common goal."

"She's stolen a tome worth more than its weight in gold." Ariane softened slightly, but still seemed on edge. "Why would you pursue her?"

"She and I... have an issue. Regarding my child." Ferran felt awkward saying it. For the past two years he hadn't thought of it as a matter of his progeny. His focus had been her, not the child.

"What will you do once you find her?" Ariane cocked an eyebrow.

"I think... I'm going to kill her."


End file.
